Zane pretended to be very, very slow; a real dimwit. He knew what the two-leggers expected of his kind, that taurs were all stupid brutes. The unlucky fool who bid high for him was in for an unpleasant surprise.

He would bide his time until the opportunity presented itself, as he knew it eventually would. Then he would strike with all the force and rage he had held down while this one had tied him up like a prized hog ready for the slaughter. He would gladly exhibit the potent fury he'd bottled up for too long while awaiting his best chance.

Zane would go with whomever paid the price for his flesh.
He would see what the new master was like first. That would determine exactly how he finished them off. Slow and nasty, cruel, or quick like swatting an unsuspecting bug.

None of the taurs had ever relished the taste of hate-spilled blood before. But everything had changed when the monkeymen invaded and started their ugly reign of dominating terror. It was time to fight back. He had to fight the hard force of injustice and horror with something much worse. His magic would kill with equanimity and uncanny alacrity.

Let the humes beware: The tide was set for turning and soon all the puny fools would be washed up in it and swept far, far away.

It would begin with one well-landing brutal kick. Brutality. Wasn't that what the two-leggers expected from his kind? They'd be getting more than what they expected soon.